Dire Straits
by katachresis
Summary: Taking a secret to your grave is overrated.  Arthur/Merlin preslash, can be read as mostly gen


This is a random brainchild from a marathon of… all three first seasons of Merlin. It's probably not very canonically accurate, and it's really because even though I know this is probably how it won't go down, I still can't help thinking it _should _go down like this. (And I have slash goggles permanently on, but there's nothing too hefty in this.)

Also, I may be directly ripping the scene off from Chuck.

My fandoms shouldn't breed.

(Thanks to Mitsu, again, for giving it a quick once-over!)

They had been in more dire straits before, Merlin was sure of it.

_When_, he couldn't really remember. Sure there were those times when Arthur was dying, or even worse the times when Merlin had been dying and he had to rely on His Royal Blockhead to figure out the cure in time… but really, that was a little different than this. Now, he was in the vaults of Camelot, quite without the knowledge of anyone else, chained back-to-back with Arthur, staring down an angry Morgana. Morgause stood next to her, crossbow in her hands, staring at him like some kind of _bug_.

At least, he reflected, they were both still conscious, and not dying of something. Well not yet. That counted for something, right?

"It's been bothering me for some _time_, you know." Morgana said, as she drew a dagger out of its sheath. "How could you – an idiot manservant – manage to get in my way time after _time_? It made no sense... until I widened my gaze."

Merlin felt his breath catching in the back of his throat. Oh no.

"What _are _you talking about Morgana?" Arthur said, irritably, twisting behind Merlin to try to look at Morgana. It twisted Merlin to the other side awkwardly and placed a strain on the chain, nearly crushing Merlin's ribcage. Trust him to be annoyingly overbearing even _now_. "You're absolutely _daft _if you think Merlin's the one who-"

"Shut up for once, Arthur." Morgana's voice was cold, stripped of any of the niceties she might normally feign. "Merlin knows _precisely _what I'm talking about… don't you?"

"Me? I know nothing, really, I mean.." He knew he was babbling a little, but that dagger looked awfully sharp, and the tension in Arthur's back – it would likely explode into full-on rage, and if this wasn't the very definition of 'caught between a rock and a hard place,' well it was awfully close.

"Really." She said, obviously not believing him. "Yet you always seem to show up, mysteriously, at the right place and the right time." Nodding a little to Morgause, who circled around them, slowly, until she was standing right in front of Arthur.

"Just lucky I guess…" He said, weakly.

She smiles.. in that way that used to seem so _sweet _and now just makes him shiver. All of her warmth has been stripped away until she glitters, diamond-like and hard, even in the torchlight. "Lucky to be a sorcerer in Camelot?" Her voice so very _mild _that one would hardly know what an explosive thing it was.

Oh no. _No_. He couldn't even begin to think of one thing to say. Fortunately Arthur _did_, of course.

"Merlin." Flat and dripping with disbelief. "_Merlin_, of all people, a sorcerer? Morgana, you've gone completely round the bend. He can barely manage to walk, let alone cast spells. If there were an award for least likely to be sorcerer, in fact—"

"Tell him." She says.. and the dagger gleams in her hand, pointed straight at Merlin's face (was she always that close? It was inches from his nose!).

Merlin chokes a bit, getting his breath back. "Uh... Arthur's right. I mean, obviously, that's _crazy_. I'm just a servant." He hoped his voice didn't sound as weak as it _felt_.

She laughs then, full and rich and far too amused. "Morgause."

A twang and a sickening thud reverberated in the vault, and Arthur cried out behind him. Merlin _felt _the hit to Arthur's shoulder, and couldn't be sure, but was that the head of the bolt sticking through Arthur's chainmail into _his _shoulder?

"Do I have to ask again?" Sweet. _Too _sweet. And he could hear the crossbow being re-loaded behind him. Merlin bowed his head, breathing deeply, considering his options.

Arthur was going to hate him, either way. He _was_, and they were probably going to die here anyway, and… he didn't want to take this secret to his grave. So he took a breath, and did the most selfish thing he could remember doing, in a long, long time.

"No." Her mouth tightened, eyes raising to Morgause, and he hastened to finish. "You're right. I am... I'm the son of Balinor, the last dragon lord, and... a sorcerer."

The noise of the torches – usually faded into the background – seemed to fill his ears. It was dead silent in the vault, for several aching heartbeats.

"What.." Arthur's voice was full of disbelief (and pain, Merlin could _hear _it, and felt personally responsible, though he had no idea if it came from the crossbow or the more personal _betrayal_.)

Merlin let out a soft, despairing little sound and slumped in the chains some.

"There, that wasn't so hard." Morgana said, silky-smooth.

"We should kill them both now, Morgana." Morgause said, the first time she'd really spoken since this whole nightmare began.

"They may be of use to us yet." Morgana murmured, then her head jerked. Distant shouts echoed down the vault hallways. "The guards."

And from the sound of them they were moving fast. He could see Morgana looking uncertainly at her sister, when the first arrow flew, narrowly missing her, actually catching on a lock of hair. She spun, sending fire towards them.

"Sister, we must go _now_." Morgause urged, and Morgana wavered.

"This isn't over, Merlin." She hissed, and reached for Morgause's hand, sidestepping them both.

There was a heartbeat of relative silence. "Balinor." Arthur's voice didn't betray exactly how he felt, but it was compelling. "Start talking Merlin. _Now_."

Merlin watched the torches coming nearer, feeling rather desperate laughter bubble up in his throat. "If it's all the same to you, sire, I don't know that now's really the _time_.."

"Unless you're going to magic these chains away, now's the _perfect _time." Arthur hissed and he was twisting again, impatient, the chainmail digging into Merlin's back. He'd probably have a patchwork of tiny bruises by the end of all this (if he still had a head left. That was probably more important, right?)

Merlin looked down at the chains… and the laughter broke out of him, weakly. "They're impervious to magic. Morgause used them once before…" He trailed off as he felt Arthur tensing behind him. "Sorry."

"Sorry for _what_, exactly?" And he knew that tone. He clearly had a _lot _to be sorry for. More than normal.

Merlin opened his mouth, to answer. Drawing in a breath, trying to will any of the words that were tumbling around his head out.

"Sire!" Knights poured into the room, and Merlin felt very much like being sick. They were unchained and hauled to their feet in short order and Merlin held his breath, unable to look any of them in the eyes – and especially not Arthur. He was conscious of the prince's eyes on him, penetrating and dangerous. He held his breath and counted the heartbeats until Arthur ordered him thrown in the dungeons.

"We've likely lost them, but they went that way. Find whatever you can." Arthur started, directing men to follow the women, barking out orders with a short temper, waving away all the knights concern about the crossbow bolt still sticking out of his shoulder. He kept only two of them back – surely enough, though, to deal with a rogue sorcerer.

_Any minute now_. He thought, closing his eyes.

"Sire, we should get you to your chambers and attend to your wounds." One of the knights ventured, and Arthur grunted his agreement.

They walked in utter silence, except for Merlin's pounding heart and the blood rushing through his ears. The walk seemed to take forever – and still, still Arthur said nothing. They stepped into Arthur's chambers as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and it was only then that he ventured a glance at the prince, sidelong through his lashes.

"We'll send for the physician," one of the knights said, gruffly.

"No need to call Gaius. Merlin will attend to me." Arthur said, shortly, his hand falling heavily on Merlin's shoulder, clamping down with an intensity that made him wince. "Keep guard for the time being."

"Yes, Sire." They bowed to him, briefly, before leaving the room. The closing of the door was preternaturally loud, as was the clanging of the chain metal as Arthur sat down, heavily. Merlin hesitated for only a moment before he went to him like usual, eyes still downcast (damnit, what was he, some sort of cowed dog?) as he examined the crossbow bolt, figuring out the best way to get it out without hurting him too much. The links of the chainmail were cold and sticky with blood. He couldn't stop thinking about how that cold mail felt pushed against his back, and yes that crossbow bolt _was _sticking out the back of it, just a touch.

"Stop being a girl and get it _out_, Merlin." Arthur grit, making Merlin jump… and look up at Arthur for the first time.

"Right." He took a breath and grabbed the end of it, reminding himself that this could be worse. It could have been an arrow. He'd gotten an arrow out of Arthur before, this was nothing. He held onto it tightly, braced himself against Arthur's chest and _yanked_.

Fresh blood spilled out, soaking the chainmail more. Merlin distantly wondered who would clean it, if he were executed in the morning, having a brief terrifying vision of spending his last night alive cleaning chainmail, and that would just be his _luck_, wouldn't it? Though he supposed he could refuse. What would they really do at that point? Kill him early?

He helped Arthur off with it, the mail not-so-carefully laid in a heap on the table as he then turned his attention to the wound, cleaning it out, applying medicine that Gaius had sent up ages ago for just such occasions, wrapping it up. All in utter silence that just felt wrong and unnatural between them but he couldn't bear breaking it.

It wasn't until he was finished that Arthur did. "So." And Arthur's voice was mild enough but it still sent chills down his spine. "Either you're a sorcerer, or you just lied to Morgana to keep her from shooting me again."

"Ah.. yeah." Relief broke over him in dizzying waves. Arthur… he could have _kissed _him right then (and didn't pause _much_ over that thought) for being the blockheaded dolt that he was. "You know me, Sire. Always ready to stick my neck out for you." He even managed a weak laugh.

"Merlin, if I find out later that you're lying to me _now _to save your own skin…" The prince's voice trailed off, threateningly, and Merlin gulped. Wordlessly, he drew away from him, leaving the prince to the meal – cold now – that he'd only barely sat down to before Merlin had burst in and started this whole mess.

It was cold, he thought, rubbing his arms briskly. "What do you want me to say?"

Silence stretched out between them, uncomfortable and tense. Merlin knelt down next to the fireplace, working on starting it. He was carrying out his regular chores half-heartedly at best, and he couldn't make himself care. The prince was capable of pouring his own goddamned mead, even with only one arm. It was with some satisfaction that he heard Arthur doing just that, though he could still feel the other's gaze, itchy on the back of his neck. He tried to go about his business like he wasn't utterly conscious of that stare, leaning in, breathing on the fire, willing the tinder to catch and hold the flame, then feeding kindling to it slowly.

"You weren't lying." Arthur breathed out from behind him.

Merlin flinched… and ducked his head a bit. "Sire, I…"

"Tell me everything." And it was a command, not a request.

He looked back at Arthur, whose face was impassive, waiting, and damnit Merlin always had a hard time truly _refusing _the prince, even when he should. So Merlin took a breath, and was selfish again. He spoke haltingly at first, but it became easier as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the rough stone of the fireplace. The goblet of too-sweet mead Arthur somehow thought to press into his hand helped too.

He left nothing out. Well not _much_, anyway… he thought that even though the memories still made _him _smile Arthur might like to do without the ways that he'd been thoroughly humiliated by Merlin's magic. He also left out a lot of that destiny bit – it was bad enough that he knew about it, and he had a feeling he might cock _everything _up if he let that spill.

He didn't know how late he talked, or how much mead he'd drunk to ease his sore and dry throat by the end of it. All he knew was that Arthur had, uncharacteristically, _listened_ for once.

It wasn't until the candles were guttering and Merlin had run out of words that Arthur was gently pulling the goblet from his hand, and getting him to his feet. Merlin swayed there, unsteadily.

"Why haven't you thrown me in the dungeon?" He breathed out, looking up into Arthur's eyes.

"I don't know." Arthur said, simply.

"Will you?"

".. Not tonight." He said after a moment, and wrapped his uninjured arm around Merlin, tugging him over to the bed and pressing him down onto it. Merlin sunk down to sit on it, looking up at him, uncomprehending.

"What…"

"If I send you back now, you'll break your neck on your way to your room. I know how poorly you hold your drink, Merlin."

"Save your father the trouble. You don't have a problem with a sorcerer sleeping in your bread?" Merlin caught the smirk that Arthur gave him, went back over what he just said, and hastily corrected himself. "Bed. I meant bed."

"Don't say that again."

Confused, Merlin frowned. "Bed?"

"Sorcerer." Arthur said it hushed, pained. Obviously still not _okay _with it. Not yet? Merlin could only hope.

"But I.."

Arthur snapped, but didn't at the same time. "Merlin, for once in your life just do what I say."

"I _always _do what you say." He protested, not hurt somehow.

"Not without attitude."

"Just because you're such a right prat. Need someone to take you down a peg here and there."

"Shut up." And Arthur shoved him back, so that Merlin hit the bed hard. "And shove over."

Merlin stared at the canopy for a moment before that penetrated, and he looked up, confused. "Wait, you're…"

"Well, did you think I was going to sleep on the floor? While I'm injured?" And there was the bratty tone of incredulity that Merlin knew too well.

"N..o?" Merlin said slowly as he scrambled but there was something so _wrong _about a manservant sharing a bed with a prince, and his mouth suddenly felt thick and his heartbeat picking up as he watched Arthur slide into the bed next to him and close his eyes, as if he hadn't a care in the world. Merlin watched him for several breaths, before he couldn't help but ask. "What if someone sees this?"

Arthur grimaced. "You can turn them to stone. Or a toad. Whichever's easier."

Merlin pressed himself up. Looking down at the prince. "Arthur."

He wasn't quite prepared for the pillow that hit him full in the face, and nearly knocked him off the bed, but for Arthur's hand grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down, half on Arthur's uninjured shoulder. "Sire. Now lay down and go to sleep, Merlin, before I knock you out myself."

He shook his ringing head, clearing it a bit. "Uh. Right." And really, what was there to do but follow that order, letting himself be pulled all the way down onto the bed… he tried to wiggle away, but Arthur kept a hold of his arm, as if he _knew _that Merlin was just planning on escaping to his room as soon as the prince fell asleep. So Merlin did the only sensible thing he could do… toed off his boots and relaxed into the (gloriously soft) down under him.

Honestly, it was as if Arthur _knew _him or something.

He couldn't keep the smile off his face, though he did hide it in the pillow. For once in his life – that might actually be true.


End file.
